


Mr. Thimble

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Dark City (1998)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Strings Attached, Obsession, Oral Sex, Purple Prose, crime noir setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 07:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: Mr. Thimble finds himself curious about her open thighs and exposed flesh. He finds himself obsessed by the repeated need for a climax that never comes and decides soon enough he wants to give her what she cannot give herself before the stroke of midnight.A/N: The Strangers are so fucking creepy, so you know I had to write something about one of them. Hope you enjoy!





	Mr. Thimble

Upon her garden of scarlet silks, the human female breathed - it was one of the first things Mr. Thimble noted about her. The memory was cataloged among the million shared by others, along with the state of her mused bed sheets. In particular, he compared them to waves, how they made ripples around her bare arms and open thighs.

She slept. Her lips parted. ‘Peaceful,’ he added to the mind. 

Mr. Thimble sat a faceted pocket watch on her bedside table along with a forged note from a lover that did not exist; cutting ties with a partner he no longer cared for. The Stranger paused as the golden timepiece wobbled, and turned his head until the fedora brim covered his wandering gaze. 

There was no reason to breathe, but at times the male body he occupied would function as though alive. This time, it was to inhale and the smell of human musk triggers electrical impulses across the bone-protected dermis inside his host’s skull. 

His attention was stolen by the female… haunted by the sweet, salty scent trapped in her sheets.

Annalise - formerly Emelia - had her fingers resting above her pelvic mound, lightly curled as they were in sleep. Human female genitalia that held no interest to him other than what he collectively knew glistened with moisture. The delicate, almost manicured hairs framed waves of soft flesh. It meant nothing to his kind but everything to theirs. 

Still, his gaze remained fixated, and the memory categorized. 

Of the million of memories he had, there was no personal experience elected to the exposed, cherry-flushed folds… except… something about it continued captivating him long after he looked away. 

Mr. Thimble cocked his head, fixed his host-lips, and realized that neither Mr. Paper, Mr. Wire nor Mr. Nose had noticed his fixation while they changed the picture frames across Ms. Annalise Fitz's mantle. 

A fireplace molded forth from her dingy wire heater an exhale later. Flames burst to life over fresh logs, and - because his gaze gradually traveled back to her sprawled form - a warm blanketing light cast a glow upon her wet, aromatic skin. The smell of sex; lust and carnality. 

When had he begun noticing these human things?

She continued to distract him long after that tuning passed. 

He felt amorous - such a human thing. Unknown sensations for unknown reasons bewitched him and even that… to be bewitched - an observed human emotion - felt exciting. 

She was, as he later realized, a fixation, indeed. 

Later in time, at the Doctor’s lab, Mr. Thimble thought of the human female with a decidedly unknown tingle in his host-limbs. Quivering musculature a direct result of reliving certain memories.

"A dash of-of self-loathing,” the Doctor prattled, “Need to have a catalyst for such hysteria as they used to call it. High sex drive, perhaps? Memories of a weak lovers embrace, I should say... along with - hmm - yes, adolescent confusion."

Mr. Thimble stood, listening, hearing, and reframing the Doctor’s words to better understand. 

Curiosity did not end with Annalise as it had not begun with her, he remembered. Prior to attending the tuning directly, he had marveled at many feminine objects in the assembly line, wondering as to their purpose, but also, finding them comforting somehow. The Human Expert knew this as well as Mr. Thimble did, so it became a shared, unspoken secret. 

It had not escaped the collective mind either, but only in… fractions; junk that did not require storing. The thoughts of Annalise and her forever deprived flesh came and were discharged by the mass, yet, to him, they remained. 

Dr. Schreber had been microdosing memories to a fair few of them for many tunings. Reasons hailed between mere curiosity to desperation - a necessary risk. A full injection always spelled annihilation for them, but small moments of human sensations given through his host-eye into Mr. Thimble’s gelatinous body gave him obsessions, unlike the collective need to study and save his own species. 

These wants were individual to himself. Selfish. They were not shared and they were… incredible. 

Around him, the underground echoed with activity, muffled by layers of steel between the workshops and the labs. It was here, awaiting another dose, that Mr. Thimble wondered what Annalise hoped to achieve by spreading her legs open when there was no male there to fulfill her.

Ahead in line, Mr. Window tensed as the needle pierced his host-flesh, feeding him a minuscule dose of chemical memories. 

Several feet away, the glass cabinet of stored syringes for the next tuning glimmered against the low blue-bulb lights decorating the circular rim of the ceiling above them. The syringe for Annalise sat among them, mingled with hundreds of others. Her previous fabricated life did not grant any new insights, for she still preferred solitude over the comfort of a lover, as he had witnessed from time to time. 

Mr. Window walked off with an odd limp in his gait as Mr. Thimble approached Dr. Schreber for his own injection. Inside a dense skull, his filaments and tentacles coiled in preparation - host-fingers clenched while the toes within his leather soles curled. 

He accepted the injection like humans did a baptism. 

The needle was warm. Reanimated human tissue tightened across wire-strength, but his shell welcomed it as the rush made his gastrodermis quiver. More and more, his true form reacted to his host; sensations following a path that began as human and ended in a part of him which felt less himself.

With the creep of the Doctor’s injection, came an assault of moving pictures.

Limbs tangled in a bare embrace. A hot whimper against the apex of his thighs. Blood rushed down and through, filling and hardening him. 

Hardness… he was not stiff in any sense of the definition, but he was in such memories. 

'His' mind swam with candlelight and racing heartbeats. An oiled cock thrust forth; flesh hugged by warm, wet human genitalia the likes of which he'd studied under the firelight several tunings ago. 

Annalise.

There was a sound like human pain, but pleasure and he… felt it. 

The memories happened as if he were bathing in them, not the cranium of his host. Moisture surrounded his dermis, yet he had no urge to recoil. For that moment in time, Mr. Thimble felt human. 

Being human, he realized, was addictive.

Later on, during the city-sleep, he deviated from his task before it had even begun. It was oddly simple to abandon his job without much consideration or attention from the rest. 

Often during the tunings, he found her naked from the waist down in her living quarters with her legs draped open and a hand resting as if mid-self-pleasure. He knew now what pleasure was, or an inkling at least… enough to understand her desire for it, knowing there was a threshold where the human body released something wonderful. 

Did she ever experience that climax of physical tension she longed for? Did the sleep always interrupt her before her orgasm could throb within her soul? Or did she need more stimuli to finish what she began? In the most recent memories that Dr. Schreber gave him, the man to whom they belonged knew of such acts and sensations, but Mr. Thimble didn't possess first-hand knowledge of the female variety. He did, however, realize that this was a private act and as a human, he would feel shame or guilt for staring at Annalise was he a man.

He felt neither. Mr. Thimble did, however, feel something like desire… obsession and an odd lift and tingle beneath his trencher. 

Long after she was injected with a new life, he stood with freshly distressed documents in hand as her lashes fluttered. Fantasies, not memories, flashed across her naked flesh - of the both of them, locked in abandon as though replicating an act long passed. 

When Annalise became Rose - a former waitress and current typesetter for the local paper with a penchant for the wrong kind of men - Mr. Thimble dressed accordingly.

His host had a natural scar from chin to lower lip, something a criminal sported, perhaps. The man had lived many lives, but his death was Mr. Thimble's home, and it grew more attractive to him as the tunings carried on. Each memory, however small… changed him somehow. His body felt singular with his host's at times, and now it felt more true than ever.

Beneath his tongue, he could taste salt where the divot of scar tissue pulled his lip into a smooth, slashed groove. There was a heat that wasn't there before - an experience of flavor and scorching hunger. 

A car horn blared. Some radio chatter from inside a ground-floor apartment blared, and jarringly, Mr. Thimble was brought to the dreary present.

He looked up with the smell of perfume hanging in the air and saw her. Black-lined eyes caught his gaze when a car's headlights streamed on by. 

Rose. Or was she Scarlet now?

Silky darkness warped his singular mind. His consciousness tore tendrils from the hive as he stared at her. Glossy, coiffed black hair left several longer corkscrews loose that fell in ringlets down one shoulder. Cherry-lips sucked the end of a cigarette - colored so much like the wanting, engorged skin between her thighs that he pictures running his tongue across them.

Asleep or awake, she was too otherworldy to describe… with legs of sweet cream and hourglass hips that spoke to something odd inside him. How warm was she within? That sacred space that humans worshipped and belittled in equal measure was all he could think about. The hatred spewed at the female species in mannerisms derogatory and even violent at times, seemed even more confusing given the desires Mr. Thimble now harbored for Rose. No pain or loathing followed his fixation, only the drive to see her finally writhe with release - the idea of which causing his slithering tendrils to curl in a brain-like imitation. Wanting...

For a second Mr. Thimble found her greens floating to his optics - dark, dead eyes - and the lifeless heart beneath his host-chest fluttered. A memory made real? Hard to say given such confusion but something in him wanted furiously - he wanted things in a way he never had before. 

Curiosity could be a word he'd have called it before the last tuning. Tonight, he felt the word 'infatuation' come to mind. 

Scarlet blinked long lashes of feather-darkness and smiled politely before her heels clicked up to her apartment building. The scent of her clove cigarette befouling the smell of her perfume with a hideously heady aroma made that queer tingle below ignite once more. 

An inkling - a primal drive not familiar to his species - moved his body… no, not his, yet his… up the stairs after her. Sharp fumes grabbed him by the heels of his boots, searching after more and more until he swallowed saliva in reflex.

Would this need ever be satisfied? Did humans truly feel so bereft of logic when faced with carnality? 

Her smile was loud as it stared down at him from the top of the lobby stairs. Nails tipped in something like human blood rapt the iron railing. She was studying him, and it gave Mr. Thimble pause. Reading human expressions was not his forte, but there was an unspoken message being relayed by body language alone.

Fingers at his thighs twitched as though to swipe off his hat, turn it to his breast and introduce himself. He did neither, but Rose seemed to enjoy such gentlemanly lack. Her syringe-fed memories were to thank for that particular penchant. She liked bad men...

Mr. Thimble turned his head to the side, noting a greasy-looking super reading doctored papers with the air of a man bored of existence. Tomorrow he'd be someone new… and so would Scarlet or Rose or whatever name the others had given her. At midnight, the others would note his absence from their tuning, squint for him in the dark links and find no trace, for he felt none of them now. Looking up at the smirking woman ahead, all he felt was excitement.

Rose's smile parted only a second. Something like nervous energy causing her teeth to peak from their red cavern. A pink tongue swiped matte lipstick from her lower lip, and suddenly, without thought, his mouth twitched into something dangerous and promising - a smirk as well, perhaps - before taking the stairs after her. 

Humans indeed had their own voiceless language; nearly telepathic in nature. Mannerisms - body, and expression - said more than such limited vocabularies often could. Without words, Mr. Thimble was ushered into her apartment where a roasting fireplace filled with steaming embers greeted the frosty tips of his fingers and nose.

Rose gave him another smile, this one wicked, and yes… the heart inside his host-chest started to beat. The sensation was ripe, so painful as to be pleasant, and when her silky-smooth thumbs traced between his cavernous eyes to flick the brim of his hat back, there was lightning in his throat.

“I have a derringer in my garter,” she whispered against his mouth; a threat to a human, but a warning to him.

Over the decades, across the multitude of tunings, Mr. Thimble had witnessed many strange human rituals. He had seen sex, dancing, violence, verbal spats, and bodily functions so varied it surpassed his understanding. Never, not in all those years, had he seen courtship for it must have happened in glimpses, between memories fabricated and recently made… and never did he consider how dangerous the dance between glances and copulation could be.

Rose courted him with a red smile, tap of his hat, and blissful ignorance secured by a pocket pistol. She had no idea what he'd seen - what he wanted to do to her now, but thankfully, it seemed she would like him to continue. 

He was too slow to act, though. 

With a groan, Mr. Thimble absorbed the heat from her hands around his throat. She rocked her body forward until her breasts molded against his chest. His eyes lowered as though hypnotized before they startled open like full saucers, silenced by her gentle, cupping grip between his thighs. 

That smile turned into a line at what she felt, apparently expecting something more than the heavy, flaccid genitals in her palm. Carefully, the heat of her hand dropped away, and back she swayed; heels clicking the wooden floor.

"You're not some hatchet man, right? I ain't got nothing to do with that con man at the diner. He's just a regular I swear…"

Mr. Thimble took a single step forward. 

Rose took two back. 

One ahead and several backward. 

It was a dance, he noted, but nothing joyous. That unspoken promise of bliss died as did her languid limbs. They turned stiff by her sides as though prepared for something that'd been a long time coming. How wretched it was to know that these 'problems' she wrought herself with were nothing real. A con man sending someone to murder her before the stroke of midnight? An elaborate play by them with the final act never coming.

But the show would soon end whether they both wanted it or not. A change - a metamorphosis. In a matter of hours, she would be under their spell, ready to awake as someone new. 

The thoughts in his head were no longer contained in his endoderm, but spread throughout his skull… running too fast inside a brain not yet a brain. And, between his legs, the fading heat from her touch stirred him.

Feeling as though time was running away from him, Mr. Thimble walked toward her until she stumbled against a dresser full of cheap makeup, expensive bottles of perfume, and a single picture frame of an ocean sunset. Trapped by a stranger, she looked more animal than woman.

He opened his mouth to reassure her but it was abruptly covered in hot, trembling lips. 

A kiss. Affection? Souls united for a sliver of time - a locking of lips that sent electrical impulses through human sinuses to shoot spider webs of pleasure inside his skull. The effect melted him. He felt his bell, pendalium, tentacles, ropalia, and more dissolve, quiver, and mold into something merely an extension of his body… this dead, human body. 

Rose exhaled a stream of hot air from her nose and sighed, pulling away to look up at him with that same smile she'd thrown down the lobby stairs. A return to such courtship? - or misdirection to save her from a fate most gruesome… he’d never know. But Mr. Thimble wanted nothing more than to continue their engagement.

"I got something between these gams that'll change a man," she whispered, eyes still frightened, "You forget you saw me, and I'll make it real good for ya. The pie always tastes better when it's been baked with love, yeah?"

Mr. Thimble stared for too long, long enough that her sturdy smile began to crumble. A lick of his lips and he realized what they both needed.

"Wha-what'd ya say to that, Mister?"

Against her stomach, pressing against the buttons on her work dress, drab as it may be, his cock - because it was his now - stiffened. A pulsation, like flicks of blood bouncing beneath the skin he'd only recently started to feel, gave him pause. Mr. Thimble found himself… not himself, yet entirely, exclusively, himself. 

"I'll ask you now: sit down," Mr. Thimble uttered. His vocal cords shivered in ways they had not before, as he pointed a leather-black finger to her bed. "Sit over there, please."

Her cheeks always looked softly flushed, either by rouse or biology, but before his very eyes, they became near as cherry-dyed as her vulva. Yet, despite an audible swallow and nervous smile, she did as he asked. The blemish-free balls of her knees slid naked from the hem of her dress as she sat; hands on the bedspread by her hips and eyes angled up through black lashes. 

The duality of mind and body became more apparent the moment he turned, meeting with her awe-parted lips and wide, wet eyes of emerald. Memories of cheeks hollowing around his-

"You're hard…" she whispered; velvet and smoke. "I can take care of that for you if you want." 

The fear and plea from her tone was nearly gone. Mr. Thimble heard that simmering fire of desire he too could not stop from roasting his hot innards; absorbing or being absorbed by this human corpse he'd thought to control. Had he perhaps been a more experience holder of human male memories, there would be a question or currency given the ease with which she seemed so eager to undo his trousers, but his eagerness felt nearly innocent despite knowing what came next was far from such a descriptor. 

He watched, observing the way her manicured nails pressed apart the folds of his trencher, skimming the thick, black fabric around his hips towards his buttons and clasp. Suspender clips were ignored in favor of exposing the organ that had tripled in size since Mr. Thimble had last acknowledged it. 

Scarlet seemed pleased, "I knew there was a reason why I didn't run up the stairs and lock the door… you're worth gettin' mugged over."

Mugged, murdered… something else horrendous these humans committed against one another, but not tonight.

It wasn't until Rose's hot breath ghosted across the engorged head of his lengthy cock that his mind vanished and nothing but his body remained. 

Lips - so warm and wet and firm. Teeth - scathing soft fire down nerve endings unfamiliar. A tongue - flicking and rubbing beneath the tip with the knowledge he himself did not possess but was… learning and… loving. 

A sound escaped his throat; unobstructed by decay and fueled by pleasure. He was lost, frozen in sickly pallor slowly turning something human as this woman kissed and swallowed down all she could fit inside her achingly hot mouth; down her throat until a tightness cupped the swollen head of his cock. 

This was his body. His memory. His moment. She had no way of knowing, but Rose granted him the greatest gift of them all - the gift of humanity.

Gushes of exhaled breath, moans, fingernails scratching at his barren pelvis made him shudder. Her open mouth sung around him. But the feeling - the tight, blistering sensation of tension - became too much. Fear replaced his passionate fervor. He stuttered in his throat and tore himself away with a step back and snug pop of her lips. 

With her fingers still clenched in his open trousers, she gulped down air and gasped, "Are you okay?"

Mr. Thimble didn't know what words she expected him to say nor which ones he thought to utter. 

His cock hung there, stained with smudges of lipstick that glistened beneath saliva, and beneath the makeup and sheen, his flesh was cherry red… same as the flesh between her thighs - the thing he needed. 

"Yes…" he finally answered in an audible chatter that could not be helped. "I’ve never been in a situation such as this."

Rose smiled wickedly.

The tension in his lower body gradually faded, but the 'erection' did not, yet Mr. Thimble refused to pull her by the chin so her kiss could grace his reddened flesh once more. Instead, he frowned, took her by the scalp and tossed her back upon the bed. She yelped in pain and scrambled away from him in a startled panic. 

Her heel kicked out as he covered her hips in his palms. A stiletto caught him in the ribs, and it hurt. The pain was sweet - addiction to such sensation. 

He laughed; a sound vile and ill-used. 

A half scream for help passed her lips, but it was fast stricken into a gasp by the quick descent of his mouth at the junction of her thighs; nuzzling violently over the dress and silky undergarments he knew lay beneath. 

Her smell was inebriation defined. A mixture of perfume and sweat - of musk that seemed too human to be called anything but. 

Mr. Thimble inhaled, drawing in the toxicity of her until her fingers found his temple; knocking his hat off to the floor. 

"Oh, God," Rose breathed out when his hands gripped her knees, wrenching them apart. Her dress slid up her thighs in doing so, enough that Mr. Thimble understood and swiftly hooked his thumbs beneath her knees to push her legs up and against her chest; exposing dewy rose petals.

No undergarments to be had. Mr. Thimble knew enough to recognize that her choice was slightly scandalous.

Scarlet, beneath her thighs and heaving chest, touched her cheeks in visual embarrassment. Her eyes opened wide; lips shown with moisture. He was unsure of the face she wore when he pressed his mouth along her folds, but the sound was telling. 

Her nails dug into his naked scalp. More sweet pain mingling and merging with the savory taste of her. 

"You-" she gasped, making music as his tongue pulled away flavors of bold delicacy from each nook and crease of her vulva. "Please, don't stop…"

Mr. Thimble feared he would kill her if he did not stop himself soon, but his teeth raked down her slippery flesh regardless. He bit, and she moaned loud enough his ears rang. He licked inside her, and she shivered under his mouth and hands. 

He tongued her flavor off her delicate labia and found a spot which, if he sucked upon, Scarlet sobbed and pulled forcefully on his scalp, crushing him closer to her writhing hips and hot flesh. None of this was part of his fed memories, but the fresh experience made every second a growing hunger for more. 

Food she was not, but he ached in a place where his host's stomach might have been. The organ, whenever it was, was now his, and he sucked and licked at her until he could feel her warming down his throat.

"I haven't," a gasp, "either… oh, yes," a shiver and rake of nails, "No one's done this… to me… before…"

Whether that was true to her implanted memories or her body, neither of them would ever know, but the confession left a particular vigor in his bones; tentacles all but forged into something new. 

Mr. Thimble paused long enough to look at her over the rumpled crease of her blue dress, past the valley of her covered breasts to see her head lifted and teeth latched on her lower lip. 

Another moment of unspoken conversation passed, her brows lifting together as her teeth chewed. Something like a smile stretched his wet lips, instigating her own to quirk upwards. As soon as her lashes lowered and her hips shifted down, he knew - knew from chemical-memories and the short time he'd been watching her - that Rose wanted the orgasm midnight never gave her. 

He peered mechanically at the clock on her mantle. The fire was dead but the city lights, however muted, showered through her window. Ten minutes until midnight. 

"We have time." He stated with certainty and calculative drive. 

Scarlet looked only briefly curious before he pressed his tongue from his between his lips to eat her soul.

The bed bounced beneath her hips as she collapsed back with an extravagant sigh of pleasure. His tongue swirled and flicked the stiff little nub that had hardened after a few wet sucks. Bellow, at the end of her cascading folds, his gloved finger sought out that opening his faded memories remembered plundering. How his hips had snapped back, driving a stiff cock through tight, suckling caverns towards an end he so desperately wanted. He feared it now, in reality. In memories, he used the experience to bring Rose to her end. 

"Yes," she chanted. 

He could not feel much of her through the oiled leather gloves, but some pressure applied upwards, just so, got him a scream and twitches. More 'yes' words and sounds choked out on moans with soft sniffling cries. 

Just as her inner thighs began to shake around his cold ears, Mr. Thimble shoved his thumb beneath the start of pubic curls, pressed the hood of her nerve ending up and drew it with a hard suck into his mouth. 

Scarlet cried out. Her hips gyrated to a tune like the beating of blood - of hormones. He sucked, licked and nipped her tenderness through the throes of such pleasure until she was clenching around his finger and crying. 

How humans knew the difference between pain and pleasure by sound alone, he could not tell. So similar, yet the outcome so very different. In context though, he swirled his tongue harder, knowing she couldn’t be sobbing from anything but the climax she’d been seeking for so long now.

“... thank you.”

Five minutes until midnight, yet he made sure to dig his tongue where his finger had been, drawing out the last bits of salty sweetness as she quivered in what he assumed were aftershocks of bliss. 

When he was done, he licked his lips - so warm now - took his hat from the floor and carefully stood. 

Rose stared up at him, legs just as splayed open as the times he had seen her asleep during the tunings. This time, she was happily dazed and grinning; lipstick smeared from her diligent efforts on him earlier. 

"No man's made me feel so good before," she admitted; still breathing laboriously. "I can finish what I began, ya know… or you can just stick yourself… right…"

A yawn broke her offer, tho her fingers slid down the creases of her dress to the thatch of hair and well-loved flesh below.

"...here."

Her lashes fluttered, the clock struck midnight and… Rose fell asleep. 

In several hours, she'd awaken another woman. There would be no memory of him, yet he would carry tonight with him for the rest of his existence. 

As they had all feared, Mr. Thimble was now one with the human soul. However long he had left now before they realized his division from the hive, was only a matter of when. They would melt him. Or… perhaps his desire and curiosity would be rewarded. More realistically, he should wake her from slumber and take her somewhere between the walls.

Mr. Thimble thought but had no input on the question besides his own. So, without further consideration of the consequences, he lifted a gloved hand and smirked.

"Awaken, Rose."

And she woke.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have the time, please let me know what you thought. All typos are my own. <3
> 
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